


show me yours

by crimsonxflowers



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, M/M, background Meyer/Benny if you squint, tattoo parlor and flower shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"D'you wanna see it?" Charlie says around the rim of his third beer bottle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me yours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [our mother has been absent ever since we founded rome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177333) by [therestisdetail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/therestisdetail). 



> references [I realized quickly when I knew I should](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3177333/chapters/10447722) by [therestisdetail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/therestisdetail), so you should read that first, both to get the references and because it's amazing and way better than this nonsense. [crossposted to tumblr.](http://littlelansky.tumblr.com/post/128599078261/show-me-yours)

"D'you wanna see it?" Charlie says around the rim of his third beer bottle. He leans back against the futon, picking at the edge of the label while he waits for an answer. Meyer looks over at him, eyebrows climbing higher as the seconds pass. "The _tattoo_ , asshole," Charlie mumbles, once he gets a look at the smirk on Meyer's face, hiding the flush in his cheeks behind the motion of taking another swig.

Meyer watches Charlie's throat as he tilts his head back and swallows, weighing his options before he answers. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't burning with curiosity; Charlie's worn long sleeves since the day they met, and after the slip of the tongue that alerted Meyer and Benny to the tattoo's existence, Charlie's resisted Benny's incessant attempts to get him to show them what he's got—with admirable vigilance. In comparison, Meyer's been content to wait for Charlie to come to him, but he can't deny he's wanted to know just as badly as Benny has.

But it wouldn't do to be too eager and scare Charlie off. He doesn't want to come off like he's been _waiting_ , whether or not it's true. So he shrugs and says, "If you want. I certainly won't say no to seeing it." He meets Charlie's gaze, lets him search Meyer's face for whatever it is he's looking for before he nods, and leans forward to set his empty bottle on the overturned milk crates that pass for the coffee table of the shop's cramped little lounge area.

Charlie unbuttons the cuffs of his right sleeve and peels it back, muttering "don't laugh" under his breath as he pushes the fabric up past his elbow. Meyer shakes his head a little bit in response as he sets his own bottle down next to Charlie's. He waits for Charlie to shove his arm forward, expression torn between defiance and hesitation, before he says anything out loud. Meyer tears his gaze away from Charlie's and looks down at his arm, offered up after months of waiting.

"Well, I've certainly seen worse," he says quietly, not wanting to speak too loudly and break the intimate atmosphere Charlie's offer has created. It's not a lie; the work's not _terrible_ , though that might be thanks to the artist's lack of ambition more than any skill that went into its creation. A lopsided heart with the word "Lucky" scrawled in a banner over it rests about an inch down from the crease of Charlie's arm, on the tender inside of his forearm. No color, plain black linework—which makes it far easier to work with if Charlie wanted to get another design done over it—and the lines are relatively smooth, if disproportionate. Though the skin of the tattoo is raised when Meyer reaches out and brushes his fingers over the design, pretending not to notice the way Charlie suppresses a shiver at the touch. A novice artist, then, who went too deep with the ink or went over the lines one too many times—just confirming Meyer's suspicions from the sloppiness of the lines.

He glances up at Charlie as he traces the lettering, who shrugs at his cocked brow. "Dumb nickname from juvie. I won a few card games and the kids I was rooming with didn't wanna say my whole last name. It was better than gettin' called Sal, anyway." He's mentioned the name change once or twice, always after drinking or smoking and always when Benny's not around. Meyer just nods, taking the admission on its face. He'll take whatever he can get, if Charlie's in a sharing mood.

"It's nothing you couldn't get fixed up by a decent artist, if you wanted to." He leaves the implication open; when he says “a decent artist,” he mostly ( _only_ ) means “me,” but offering outright risks setting Charlie's defenses off, unlikely as that is at the moment. But Charlie either doesn’t catch the implication, or, more likely, to Meyer’s thinking, he doesn’t mind it. As it is he just nods, eyes darting from Meyer's face to the ink on his own skin, and then back up.

Meyer meets his gaze, and without looking away skates his fingertips over the ink again, just to see the way Charlie bites his lip when he does it. Charlie doesn't pull his arm back, though, so Meyer doesn't let go. "Thank you. For showing me," he adds when Charlie's eyebrows furrow a bit, questioning. Meyer knows a gift when he’s given one. He’s not going to let it go by unappreciated. He stops himself from offering to show Charlie his own work in exchange—fair’s fair, after all—but Charlie’s seen most of them anyway, the bulk of it sprawling across Meyer’s upper arms and shoulders, and what he hasn’t seen… they’ll get there eventually. Meyer’s willing to bet on that.

"Oh. Sure," Charlie says, shrugging like it’s nothing, like it hasn't taken them months to get here, like he hasn't been wearing long sleeves in the summer heat to keep it out of sight. Meyer doesn’t hide his amusement at the thought, and a hesitant grin breaks over Charlie’s face in response to the quirk of Meyer’s lips. It makes Meyer’s mind up for him. 

(He was going to wait a bit, feel Benny out a little more first; he and Charlie seem like they've reached an equilibrium, they've been sniping at each other with relatively less frequency lately, and Meyer would like to keep it that way. Dropping this on Benny with no warning might be one step forward and two steps back, but Charlie giving him this, showing him now after months of waiting... it's got meaning. And Meyer knows all about taking an opportunity when he sees one.)

Meyer hasn’t let go of Charlie’s arm, but he lifts his other hand, slowly, so Charlie can pull away if he wants, if Meyer’s wrong about this. But Charlie doesn’t move, except for the way his eyes widen before Meyer cups his jaw, thumb just brushing the swell of his cheekbone. A second passes, and then Charlie exhales like it’s been forced out of him, eyelids fluttering closed as he leans into Meyer’s palm.

The city’s never silent, and the walls of the shop aren’t thick enough to keep the sounds out completely, but the not-so-faint noise of the world outside fall away as Meyer leans up to press his lips to Charlie’s. There’s no smoke between them to disguise the intent this time, and Charlie doesn’t hesitate before kissing him back. He’s careful about it, slow, letting Meyer set the pace, and when Meyer brings his other hand up to mirror the one already cupping his face, Charlie makes a noise low in his throat and presses closer. Distantly, Meyer’s surprised at how much he wants to make Charlie make it again.

Their knees bump against each other as Meyer deepens the kiss, catching Charlie’s lip between his teeth. It’s a different sound this time, higher, breathier, but it’s just as good—better, even—and Charlie lets a palm drop to Meyer’s hip as he leans in even further. The motion’s tentative, like Charlie’s not sure what he’s allowed. He’s not alone there, Meyer thinks; this kind of thing isn’t exactly his forte. But if Charlie can tell, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Meyer loses track of how long they’re pressed against each other. They slow down eventually, teeth and tongues giving way to soft presses of their lips against each other’s, until even those stop. Charlie breaks away first, but doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Meyer’s and trying to steady his breathing. Meyer watches him, less self-conscious than he probably should be about it; Charlie’s got his eyes squeezed shut, like he’s in pain or lost or overwhelmed. Meyer isn’t sure which is more accurate. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while, you know.” He offers it as reassurance, intended to be rhetorical, mostly, but Charlie shakes his head, still close enough for his curls to brush Meyer’s forehead as they move.

“I didn’t. Know, I mean,” Charlie says, and his voice is shakier than Meyer was expecting. Meyer smiles, even though Charlie still hasn’t opened his eyes, and drags his thumb over Charlie’s cheek again. He resists the impulse to follow the motion with his lips.

“Let me guess: you’d have shown me your tattoo sooner if you did?” he teases, and his smile splits into a grin as Charlie barks out a laugh, a little startled but totally genuine, and finally opens his eyes to meet Meyer’s.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”


End file.
